


The Affair of the Dutch Steamship Friesland

by Lexie



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1636700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexie/pseuds/Lexie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lost case from the files of Dr. John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Affair of the Dutch Steamship Friesland

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all of my beta readers, but especially to MorteGami. The best parts are hers.
> 
> Written for Amy Fortuna

_"Our months of partnership had not been so uneventful as [Holmes] had stated, for I find, on looking over my notes, that this period includes the case of the papers of ex-President Murillo, and also the shocking affair of the Dutch steamship FRIESLAND, which so nearly cost us both our lives."_  
-Dr. John Watson, `The Affair of the Norwood Builder'

Of all the cases solved by my friend Sherlock Holmes in which I have had the fortune to play some small role, this is a tale that I am most reluctant to set to paper. I have waited years to do so, not least because there were several good men who could have undeservedly lost their careers and their reputations over the telling. However, once the passage of time had made these men unrecognizable, I was forced to face the other reason that I was reluctant to document this case. No man likes to be reminded of his own mortality. For myself, while I have never made a secret of my meeting with a Jezail bullet in Afghanistan, it is not an experience that I have been given to dwelling on. I worry for the sanity of any man who spends very much time thinking on the harrowing experiences in his life.

Some time ago, I read notice of the death of a primary figure in the affair of the Dutch steamship Friesland. I had not thought of the matter in years, but when my gentle Amelia inquired what was troubling me, and pried the matter out of me in her inestimable manner, she suggested that I document the case as I once did so faithfully. While I will not seek publication for the following, as it could as yet discredit a fine and vital English institution, I have taken my wife's advice.

I am well accustomed to the habits of my friend Sherlock Holmes, even after the recent time spent apart when the world mourned the seeming death of its greatest consulting detective at the Reichenbach Falls. Even so, I was suitable startled to be presented with a telegram one morning soon after I had taken up residence at 221b Baker Street once more.

`What do you make of that?' asked Holmes.

`I am hardly yet awake,' I protested, fork full of eggs poised nearly to my mouth.

`Come now, Watson; do not tell me that you have returned to your old lazy habits in my absence.'

`I have done no such thing,' I responded, taking the paper from him and reading it. `It appears to be a telegram.'

`Does it now?' Holmes queried dryly.

`The widow of a Dutch shipping magnate, a Mevrouw Meijer, has written to express her urgent need of the services of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and her intention to call on him today upon her arrival in London.' I read over the telegram once more to be sure that I had not missed whatever it was that was remarkable about it, and when I looked up, I found that Holmes was nodding complacently. `I cannot fathom why you have asked me,' I said. `It seems perfectly straightforward to me.'

Holmes took back the telegram and gestured for me to continue. `Pray tell.'

`The lady's husband is dead, under suspicious circumstances, and she wishes you to look into the matter.'

`Ah,' said Holmes with a laugh, `but here is where I have the advantage of you, dear Watson. I was consulted on this very matter by Lestrade just last week, and I know that the gentleman in question suffered a heart failure in decidedly unsuspicious circumstances.'

`Then why have you asked me?' I asked, slightly piqued, but Holmes--in an excellent mood ever since his return due to the high volume of cases requiring his attention--only smiled.

`Someone must test your intuition on occasion, Watson, and I do enjoy your theories.' He sobered, settling into his armchair. `It is a matter of importance, but not one to my interest. We shall hear the lady out, as she has traveled some distance to speak with me today, but Scotland Yard is on the case, and ought to be able to solve it without my assistance.'

`Holmes, what _is_ this matter?'

`You can hear it from the lady herself, Watson, for unless I miss my guess, she has just arrived.'

The bell rang downstairs.

When the door opened several moments later, I was only just finishing moving several dishes to a side-table for Mrs. Hudson to clear. As such, Holmes was the first to catch sight of our visitor , and he did a very peculiar thing. He looked to the opening door, and the woman presumably standing in it, and then he looked swiftly at me.

When the dainty creature dressed in black stepped into my view, I felt as thought the wind had been knocked out of me. She had a delicate face and a slender neck, and she carried herself with the dignity of royalty and the bowed shoulders of one suffering under a heavy burden. Her eyes were wide and blue and her hair a golden blonde, wound up under a black hat. They were not identical, but the resemblance to my poor Mary was strong.

While I had been standing in place, Holmes had taken the woman's hand and was introducing himself. `I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my associate, Dr. Watson, who has my utmost confidence and will comport himself with discretion.' I could barely bring myself to nod a greeting.

`Of course,' said the woman. Hearing a strong Dutch accent, in perfect English as it was, from that delicate mouth did much to remind me that this was not my Mary. `Dr. Watson's accounts of your cases have reached my country, Mr. Holmes. I am Annemie Meijer. Thank you for agreeing to see me.'

Holmes nodded, motioning her to a seat as he took his own. `My condolences for your loss, Mw. Meijer. If I am not mistaken, however, you have not traveled from Amsterdam simply to see me, or, indeed, today. You have been in London for some time?'

Sitting gracefully with her hands folded in her lap, Mw. Meijer looked startled. `That is correct, Mr. Holmes. I apologize for the deception. I had thought that you may be more willing to hear me if you believed me to have come a great distance for an audience with you.'

I could see by the way that Holmes steepled his fingers that he was intrigued. `You arranged for an acquaintance in Amsterdam to send the telegram, no doubt.'

` _Ja. Mijn zus_ \-- Pardon, my sister sent it upon my request.' Mw. Meijer looked at my friend with wide eyes. `How do you know that I have not only just arrived?'

`It was quite simple,' Holmes expounded. `The brown clay tracked by your boots is only to be found in Barnet, a fair distance from the docks where visitors to the city arrive, and where you were unlikely to go unless you were living in the area. Too, the heel of your boots is not a practical one for traveling, and your veil has been freshly professionally cleaned and pressed, though the very outline of the stain can still be seen, I am sorry to say.'

Mw. Meijer smiled, small and sad. `Your powers of observation are as impressive as they say, Mr. Holmes.'

Holmes inclined his head graciously. `You are too kind, Mw. Meijer. Now, as to your case, perhaps you would explain what has brought you to seek my services.'

`My husband was a good man, Mr. Holmes, whom I have always wished I had met earlier in his life. He was a man of honour, and I cannot bear to see his name dishonoured so,' she cried, eyes flashing and over-bright with tears.

Never let it be said of my friend that he is made of stone, though it sometimes seems to be so. Not unmoved by Mw. Meijer's plea, he allowed me the time to give my handkerchief to the poor woman, and he gave her a moment to find her composure before he asked, `Am I to understand that you wish me to prove your husband's innocence, madam?'

`Yes,' said she, bravely. `Very much so, Mr. Holmes.'

`If I am to take on this task, Mw. Meijer, you must understand that the outcome may not be what you seek.'

`My husband was innocent, Mr. Holmes, and I have no doubt that that will be shown. That said, I have the highest amount of respect in your abilities and your integrity, and I shall take as truth what you discover on my behalf. I am a poor widow, sir, and I cannot afford to pay the fee that your unparalleled expertise deserves, but I have a small sum set aside for difficult times, and it is gladly yours.'

`Well-said,' I murmured.

`Madam, I will accept no payment.'

Excited colour rose in her cheeks. `Then you will accept my case?'

Holmes inclined his head. `I will.'

I must admit, I believe that my heart leapt nearly as soundly as Mw. Meijer's at Holmes's gracious pronouncement.

`Bless you and your kindness, Mr. Holmes!' she cried thankfully. `You have my undying gratitude, sir!'

`It is a matter of some importance, I believe, Mw. Meijer. Thanks are not necessary. Now, do you possess any correspondence belonging to your late husband?'

`In fact, I do,' she said, and she drew a sheaf of neatly folded papers from her pocket book. `These are the letters that Inspector Lestrade found so suspicious.' She gave them to Holmes, who unfolded the first and scanned it. `I wrote the copies myself. They are accurate.'

Holmes's eyebrows lowered in a sharp frown as he read, and then he looked up. `And Mr. Meijer's offices in London?'

`I would like to see the day that Scotland Yard tries to prevent me from bringing who I wish to property owned by my husband,' she said, fiercely.

`The keys, Mw. Meijer. Do you possess them?'

`I do.'

`Very well. Madam, we will meet you at the offices of Messrs. Meijer, Van Hasselt & Co. at half past noon in - four days time, if that is agreeable?'

`It is.'

`Watson?'

`I shall certainly be there.'

`Good man. Until Tuesday, Mw. Meijer.'

`Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Bless you,' she said again, rising from her seat. She turned to me and made as though to hand my kerchief back. Her eyes were an astonishing shade of blue. `Bless you both.'

`Keep it, please,' I said, past the sudden lump in my throat. `I wish only that you will not have use of it again.'

`Thank you, Dr. Watson,' said Mw. Meijer, her dainty hand closing around the handkerchief and holding it close. `You are most kind. Good day, gentlemen.' With a rustle of skirts and a demure bob of the head, our visitor was gone.

Neither of us said a word, for a time. What Holmes did, I cannot say. What I know is that I could not drive the beautiful Mw. Meijer or my poor Mary from my thoughts. After a time, I looked up. `Holmes,' I said, "I thought that you had decided to leave this case to Scotland Yard.'

Holmes unconcernedly glanced up from reading the packet provided by Mw. Meijer. `I had.'

It was with a distinct upswelling of gratitude that I replied, `Of course.'

Holmes set the papers aside. `And now, Watson, I have a question that is even simpler than that of Mw. Meijer. Would you join me for some Schubert?'

`Certainly,' I replied, and that was the last that we spoke of the matter for the afternoon.

That night, walking along the Strand under the gaslamps, Holmes was at his most eloquent. `Clearly, he was influenced by the Classical sonata forms of Mozart and Beethoven,' he said, gesturing with a long-fingered hand. `The formal structures, the developments - they give the impression more of melodic development than of harmonic drama. It was adequately performed.'

The dull ache in my leg made me a touch more snappish than was my custom. `Holmes, this is fascinating, I am certain, but you have yet to explain why it is that we are walking back to Baker Street.'

`Patience, Watson. If you would step this way, you may find that the offices of Messrs. Meijer, Van Hasselt & Co. are in this very direction.'

`What an extraordinary coincidence,' I said.

One side of Holmes's mouth tugged upward. `Quite.'

As we approached the offices, the lamplight was not bright enough to allow me to see the building well, but I remained unconcerned on that matter. Most of the windows were dark, save one, as we ascended the steps and tried the door. It was surprisingly unlocked, and we made our silent way into the building. The offices were dark, the watchman occupied, and as I stole along behind Holmes, I reflected that this was not the first and likely not the last time in our association that I was carrying out deeds of a less than savoury nature. As ever, though, they were in the name of a most excellent cause, and as well as trusting Holmes's judgment, I had only to think of Mw. Meijer's impassioned pleas in order to harden my resolve.

Before a moment or two had passed, we stood in the only bright room in the building. My friend paused momentarily in the doorway before he began to search the room. When he moved, I saw what it was that had brought him short. A young man, no older than five and twenty years, was slumped over the desk. I moved immediately to his side as Holmes moved about the room, checking his pulse and not finding one.

`He is dead,' I stated, looking him over for wounds. I heard my friend tut softly. `He has suffered a blow to the back of the skull,' I said, startled at my own discovery. I turned to look at Holmes, only to find his gaze fixed on the young man's fist where I still held it aloft by the wrist.

`But I believe he has left us a clue.' Striding across the room to the desk, Holmes pried the fingers open enough to slip a torn bit of parchment from the young man's fist. `What have we here?' he said softly as he began to look the parchment over. `Interesting, indeed! Come, Watson. Let us send a tip to Lestrade and be on our way.'

We made our way out as silently as we had made our way in and before long we were in a hansom heading back to our rooms. Nothing that I said could draw forth any conversation from my friend. After a few attempts, I simply let him be.

Once we were safely back in our rooms and settled down by the fire, Holmes spread out the bit of parchment on his knee. I waited patiently, knowing that my friend would soon tell me what it was. I did not have long to wait.

`Well, Watson, this is a pretty little problem we have been presented with,' he stated finally, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers in thought.

`And I am certain I do not know the half. What is this parchment that you have found, and how does it connect to Mw. Meijer's case?' I asked, hoping my questions were what he wished to be asked. Holmes's sudden smile was more than reassuring.

`This parchment is part of a sheet that tells me where the late Mr. Meijer's money was going at what time. It is interesting because it is written in a cipher. Ledgers of this type seldom lend themselves to being written in such a fashion. What it tells me, now that I have deduced the cipher it was written in, is that Mr. Meijer was not what one might term a model citizen. And it also incriminates several fellows. Hand me my violin, would you, Watson? This new bit of information will require thought.' Handing over the instrument, I knew I would not be able to get any more answers. Which was, perhaps, just as well, as I was feeling quite comfortable and relaxed as I listened to Holmes's mournful little tu

_[Note from the editors: Due to a catastrophic flood in the archives where the papers_  
of Dr. Watson were held for a number of years, several pages have been damaged  
beyond legibility. We here at Carson  & Sons, Inc. apologize for the inconvenience, and  
endeavor to return you to the narrative at such a point that the text can be  
understood.] 

som cab contracted by Holmes and I pulled up in front of the offices of Mw. Meijer's husband's company. The building looked quite different in the daylight. It was of red brick, set on a bustling street. Hansoms dashed gaily to and fro, transporting passengers and shouting drivers. The signs hanging in the windows and over the doors proclaimed these buildings to be the offices of several law firms, as well as that of Messrs. Meijer, Van Hasselt & Co.

`Mr. Meijer was certainly not lacking in funds,' I remarked as I alighted, able now to see the relative opulence of its surroundings.

`That he was not. Ah, I believe that I see our Mw. Meijer now.'

The widow waited under the sign advertising her late husband's company, weeping veil obscuring her face and her hands clasped demurely before her.

`Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson,' greeted Mw. Meijer. `Thank you for coming.'

`It is our pleasure, Mw. Meijer,' I assured her, as Holmes, after an initial distracted nod, had already moved past and inside. I held the door for Mw. Meijer and stepped through behind her to find Holmes already deep in conversation with a triumphant-looking Inspector Lestrade.

`And Dr. Watson and Mrs. Meijer,' said Inspector Lestrade, breaking away from the discussion with Holmes. `I was just telling Mr. Holmes that I had solved it all.' I glanced in my friend's direction as I shook Lestrade's offered hand, but Holmes was moving further into the building. I followed, Mw. Meijer and Lestrade behind me.

`You shall not find anything, Holmes,' Lestrade said. `I searched this place from top to bottom and found only enough to help me solve the case.' Holmes did not appear to hear the inspector, flipping through various books and papers as he went about the offices. I could not help but put more faith in my friend's methods than in the good inspector's.

Watching Holmes work more than I was listening to the words of Lestrade, I was unsurprised when he opened a book seemingly at random and became suddenly interested in what lay within. Carrying the book with him, he continued to examine the offices, not bothering with the one in which we had found the dead desk clerk a few days prior.

`My good lady,' Holmes said suddenly, interrupting Lestrade's description of how he had solved the case. `May I take this book?'

The lady looked startled, but nodded. `Certainly, Mr. Holmes. You may take whatever you need to help you.'

`You are too kind. I have seen enough, then. Inspector, might I have a word outside while Watson sees the lady to a hansom?' With those words, the four of us made our way outside. Holmes and Lestrade stood to the side, my friend listening to the inspector's theory with ill-disguised impatience while I called a hansom to take Mw. Meijer to her lodgings. As the horse pulled to a stop beside us, she plucked at my sleeve.

`Please, Dr. Watson. I cannot remain silent any longer.' I turned to her. Her eyes were wide.

`What is it, my dear lady?' I asked. Her eyes widened further as she looked beyond me, fear suddenly in her every feature. Before I could enquire further, she stepped swiftly into the cab and gave the driver a shrill order, and the hansom dashed away.

Immediately, Holmes was at my side. `What has happened?' he asked of me. My mind worked quickly before I spun around and spied a rough-looking youth who suddenly darted down an alley. Holmes followed me as I ran after the man, moving ahead of me as he realized who I was after. I heard Lestrade following, struggling to keep up, but it did not take us long to catch our quarry.

`I ain't done nothin' wrong!' the young man cried out defiantly.

`Why has the lady become frightened at the sight of you?' I demanded.

`I had to follow her,' he said, desperation in his voice. `Got told to show meself if she was to speak to any gentlemen alone! Just a warning!'

`Who asked you to do this?' Holmes asked sharply.

`I don't know. It was a gent outside the White Hart. He was short, sir. Shorter than meself and you, sir. Not thin like any of us, either. It was dark and he stood just so that I could not see his face, sir; he gave me a guinea.'

`The White Hart? What cheek! Operating right under Scotland Yard's nose!' Lestrade cried. Holmes, however, looked thoughtful.

`Interesting. You may go, though if you are seen in the lady's vicinity again, you shall be in for it!' I released the youth at Holmes's nod, and he scampered off quickly. `Let us return to Baker Street, Watson. I have many things to think about.' We left Lestrade sputtering behind us as we returned to the street.

A dockworker, broad-shouldered with a red face and cracked hands, came through the door at 221b Baker Street later that day. While I knew from experience that my friend was a master of disguise, I was still taken aback to see the rough figure disappear into Holmes' room.

At half past the hour, my friend emerged and immediately began to pace. I watched from the comfort of my armchair and the Times. Unable to contain my curiosity, after several moments, I ventured to ask a question.

"This little problem is not so little as I had first believed," said Holmes.

"What has happened?" I asked, lowering the Times.

"I cannot say. If I were to do so now, it would be only wild conjecture. I do not yet know for certain, Watson," he said, as troubled as I had seen him, "but if my thoughts are correct..." He gave a grave shake of his head, and remained silent for the remainder of the evening. When I rose to take to bed, he sat there still, sharp profile thrown against the wall by the light of the lamp.

I was woken in the morning by a vigorous hand on my shoulder, and was startled to find Holmes leaning over me.

`Up, man!' cried Holmes, beginning to pace excitedly now that my eyes were open. `I am sorry to disturb your repose, Watson, but there is no time to waste. You can cancel your engagements for the day?' His face shone with the tireless energy that always seemed to show when he was hot on the trail of a case, and that I envied him at the moment.

I sat up. `Undoubtedly. Young Kenning would surely make my calls.'

`Excellent,' said Holmes. `If you would make your arrangements, we will depart shortly.'

My friend had sobered by the time that I emerged to break my fast at the table provided by the able Mrs. Hudson.

`This could well be a dangerous task, Watson,' said Holmes, sharp face grave over a smart suit and behind a pair of spectacles.

`I have undertaken such tasks before,' I assured him. `I will be on my guard.'

`Good man. You will have to be armed with your service revolver as well as your vigilance.'

`Very well,' I said, looking at him in some astonishment. `Holmes, is this secrecy necessary? If this task is as dangerous as you say, would a message to Lestrade for several discreet men not be in order?'

`No,' said Holmes, surprising me with his vehemence. `It would not. All will be explained in due time, Watson, I promise you. For now, if your arrangements have been made, I am afraid that I must remove you from your meal. Time is of the essence, if you will trust me.'

`Indeed,' I responded staunchly. `I will even go so far as to do exactly as you ask.'

`Good show, Watson!' he cried. `That was to be my next request. And now, there is not one moment to lose.'

The day was spent traversing the London Docks, the West-India Docks, the East-India Docks, and the Victoria Docks, in search of ships owned by Messrs. Meijer, Van Hasselt & Co. Holmes was closed-mouthed as ever, refusing to explain just what we were looking for, until I began to wonder whether Holmes himself knew. What ever it was that he searched for, he did not locate it, and as the day wore on and then out, I began to despair that it would be found.

The sun setting over the masts and the smokestacks of London, the Thames reflecting the last of the day's light, I trudged along behind Holmes. `How many more ships are there to enquire of?' I asked wearily.

`Only one,' said Holmes, and I could see that he was displeased. He gestured ahead to the large, squat steamer floating in the deepest part of the river. It was particularly unimpressive, coated with a thick layer of grime and soot, the red of its smokestack difficult to make out under the dirt.

As we approached the dock nearest the ship, one of the sailors came rushing down towards us. He was an older man, his brown eyes narrowed by years of squinting in the sunlight and his sun-bleached hair hiding his exact age.

`We have come to inspect the cargo before you set off,' my friend stated, approaching the man instantly. The sailor looked us over with a distrustful gaze before he nodded and gestured for us to follow.

`It has been secured well, I take it?' Holmes remarked as he stepped onboard.

` _Ja_ ,' said the grizzled sailor.

`My colleague and I will be the judges of that,' Holmes told him, with a signal to me, and I made ready to follow him into yet another ship's hold to inspect another cargo. However, the loose ring of Dutch sailors around us suddenly tightened, the men brandishing weapons. Holmes shouted and I drew my service revolver, but before I could do a thing, there was a sudden, blinding pain to the back of my head, and the ship's deck went black before my eyes. As it did, I imagined that I saw the lovely face of Mw. Meijer, twisted into fear and distress, as she rushed forward.

When I regained my senses and opened my eyes, I was greeted by the sight of my friend pacing, his chin resting on his chest as was his wont when deep in thought. Slowly, I leveraged myself into a sitting position, and could not help but groan, as the back of my skull throbbed in pain. This drew Holmes' attention.

`Watson, I have been a fool!' Holmes cried, pacing back and forth across the floor. `A most damnable, damnable fool! It all comes together now!'

More interested in self-preservation than self-recrimination, I rose with my hand on a rusty bulwark for support. `Holmes,' I said urgently, `what of our escape?'

Metal creaked loudly nearby, the entire ship seeming to shudder and moan like a vast living creature, and the decking shifted under my feet. I reached out for something to hold to, and I found myself with a grasp on Holmes's shoulder, his sharp face peering into mine. `Easy, man,' he said. He guided me to a seat on a crate and deposited me there. `You are not badly hurt, are you, Watson?'

`No,' I said, resolutely not touching the back of my head. `It has only made me slightly dizzy.' This was not entirely the truth. In fact, from this point on, I have had to rely on Holmes's memory to supplement my own blurred thoughts.

`Good man.' He sat on the crate across from mine. `There is nothing to be done but wait.'

`What for?'

`William Loring.'

`Who or what is William Loring?'

`The man running the criminal organization of the late Professor Moriarty.'

`Moran was caught!'

`Moran was caught. Moriarty's third in command was not. Do you remember, Watson, I told you that Moran was one of the most dangerous men in the world.'

`Yes, of course.'

`This man is another.'

`For God's sake, man, how do you know that he is involved?'

`There will be a time for explanations, Watson, I promise you, but this is not it.'

The floor lurched again, interrupting the discussion. `Has the ship set sail?' I asked.

Holmes inclined his head. `If I am not mistaken, it is bound for the West Indies.'

`And what of us?' I asked grimly.

`From the little that I overheard, we are to be thrown into the sea once the ship is far enough from land.'

Thrown into the sea! What an inglorious end, and one that could not be allowed to come.

`I am sorry that I brought you here, Watson. I did not foresee matters going so badly.'

`There is nowhere that I would rather be,' I said. While I would rather have been sat before a roaring fire in the sitting room at 221b Baker Street, I meant the sentiment behind the statement.

`I somehow d-- Hark!'

I heard it then - the tread of heavy footsteps on the stairs. The man who stepped down into the hold looked average in every way, with an unremarkable round face, sandy blond hair gone to grey, and a pair of oversized spectacles slipping down his nose. He walked with a limp and the aid of a stout cane, though there was something odd in his manner of shifting his weight. Two broad-shouldered men followed just behind him, each carrying a nasty-looking pistol.

`Mr. Holmes, and Dr. Watson,' he said, his voice cracking peculiarly. `We meet at last.'

`Ah, but I have followed your handiwork for years, Mr. Loring,' said Holmes, rising. `The train robbery in 1861, the strange and sordid affair of the Dobsons the year after, the Church Street murders of 1866, the arson case in which you scalded your throat and your leg-- A long and quite industrious, if undistinguished, career.'

The man chuckled. `If that is supposed to frighten me, Mr. Holmes, it has not done its job. You have been trying all these years, but you have never caught me, have you? And now, behold where both we stand.' He shook his head with a tooth-filled smile that betrayed his true nature. `I must admit, I had expected it to be much more difficult to best you, Mr. Holmes. I find myself disappointed, and rather deceived by your reputation.'

`You've just finished hearing of that reputation from Chief Inspector Wainwright, I presume,' said Holmes coolly.

I am no student of acting, but the twitch that Loring gave was apparent for the world to see. I am equally certain that my own surprise was as poorly concealed, though mine came for a different reason than the criminal's. A chief inspector of Scotland Yard!

Loring smiled faintly. `And how did you deduce that, Mr. Holmes?'

`I did not,' said Holmes. `I had my suspicions, but you have just informed me.' As an ugly fury took over Loring's face, Holmes continued rather dryly. `I suppose I had given too much credit to your intelligence.'

Loring began to say something, but it was lost as the ship came to a sudden, violent halt, with a screech of metal and a great slam, as if a dog running up against the end of its chain. Everything in the hold tumbled and the lamps went out; a crate struck me on the shoulder, and I heard shouts and the sound of struggling.

`The door, the door!' croaked Loring's strange voice. `Open the door!' The hold door swung open and there was suddenly a shaft of light illuminating the dark hold. Loring was dashing up the steps with surprising agility, Holmes leaping up and bounding after him. One of Loring's two men had crashed into the pile of crates beside me, and the other was nowhere to be seen, presumably vanished into the darkness of the hold. I relieved the nearby dazed man of his pistol, gave him a smart crack across the head with the butt of the weapon, and I followed in the wake of Loring and Holmes.

On desk, all was chaos, with men running this way and that, the deck rolling and the lights of London still visible in the distance. I was no sailor, but I recognised that the motion of the ship was not natural; the engines strained and enormous walls of water rose to drench the deck and knock men off their feet with each wave that broadsided the listing ship. There were fewer crewmembers than I had been expecting, and I remembered, suddenly, a recent pronouncement of Holmes's on the superiority of travel by steam engine, and the relative paucity of necessary crew.

`Holmes!' I shouted, and then I saw the two figures struggling at the rail.

It was a silent fight, the two of them apparently well-matched despite Loring's cane (a cane which, I saw, was not being swung as a deadly club rather than leaned upon; the man's limp had been phony, as well I should have realised). They grappled back and forth, impossible to say who held the upper hand, until a wall of water struck them both. The wave nearly swept me from my feet, and by the time that I found my balance and started slipping across the deck in the direction in which I had seen the two men, it had been a long moment. That moment had not fallen in Holmes's favour. He was drenched and halfway to his feet, his hand on the rail, but a smiling Loring held a pistol to his head.

I should like to say that I gave it great thought; that I considered the ramifications of what would happen should I miss, what an unlikely shot it was, or the unfamiliar pistol in my hand. Afterward, I remembered that I had not been there at the Reichenbach Falls when Holmes had needed the assistance, and I had spent three long years regretting it. If one would forgive me the language, I would be damned if I would see Holmes killed in front of me.

However, I did not have the time to think of any of this. In an instant, I raised my purloined weapon, took aim, and fired. I have never been a particularly strong marksman, but something was with me that night. For a moment, I was certain that I had missed. Then Loring staggered, his hand dropping the gun and rising to his chest.

Holmes snatched up the weapon and lunged for Loring, but it was too late. The mortally wounded man toppled over the rail. Holmes looked over, shook his head, and then came away from the railing, picking his way across the treacherous, tilting deck with surefooted ease.

He clasped my shoulder with one strong hand and said, `I believe that this belongs to you, my dear fellow.' He handed my service revolver to me. `I also believe that I owe you a great deal more than a wet relic of your military service.'

`You owe me nothing,' I said.

It is often difficult to read Holmes's moods, and it was even more so under the poor lighting with a rattled brain. I can still make very little sense of the complex expression on that sharp face, other than something that could have been, perhaps, gratitude.

`Surely you must accept some repayment. Such as, for instance, turning this ship around and returning to Baker Street.'

`Those terms are agreeable.'

`Come, then, Watson,' he said, lending me a shoulder. `We have a crew to convince.'

One week later, safe, sound and dry -- if bruised -- Holmes and I sat before the fire at 221b Baker Street, with a familiar guest in Inspector Lestrade.

`What I cannot make out, Mr. Holmes, is who dropped the Friesland's anchor,' said the puzzled inspector.

`The woman,' I said. `Mw. Meijer.'

Holmes glanced at me, then corrected, `The woman who claimed to be Mw. Meijer. After wiring the Dutch authorities, I found that the real Mw. Meijer is an elderly woman who was reported missing several months ago.'

Lestrade frowned. `What was the reason behind the deception?'

Holmes leaned back in his seat, folding his hands. `The conspiracy was a convoluted one. Moriarty's organization obtained the African gold, Meijer's shipping company carried it, and the bribery of several of the Crown's highest officials and Scotland Yard's finest ensured that it would enter the country safely. Vast sums rode upon the successful execution of this operation, and when it began to crumble after the deaths of two of its masterminds, the remaining conspirators panicked and became sloppy, doing what ever they believed necessary to keep the secret. Loring and Wainwright allowed Meijer's part in the conspiracy to come forward, masking their own involvement. Unfortunately for their plans, however, the real Mw. Meijer had written to me to request my services.

`Much involving the erstwhile Mw. Meijer is conjecture on my part, as she vanished fromthe Friesland without a trace and Loring was killed, but I believe that she was a talented Dutch actress. Loring masterminded a plan to kill two birds with one stone, as they say, wishing to both ensure the keeping of the secret and to do away with myself. The actress was chosen both for her skill and for her resemblance to the late Mrs. Watson, whose appearance was well-recorded thanks to the little account that the doctor put out of that peculiar adventure, in order to further ensure my taking of this case.'

Lestrade looked in my direction, but I had already heard this portion of the tale and I only nodded once, tight-lipped.

`In the meantime, the desperation of these men included, unfortunately, the murder of Mr. Meijer's desk clerk, who discovered the coded record of bribes paid to Scotland Yard officials. In the killer's haste to escape, he tore the sheet of paper from the dead man's hand, and left the bottom half behind.'

Lestrade leaned forward eagerly in his seat. `Who was the killer, Mr. Holmes?'

`I could not say,' said Holmes dismissively. `A tall, heavyset man of between five foot  


Lestrade had been jotting notes as Holmes spoke, but he paused at the mention of the policeman's shoes. `You think the murderer to be a constable?'

`I think the murderer to have been wearing a constable's shoes,' said Holmes. `I do not doubt that there were other murders and crimes committed to keep these secrets, and with some extra study of the case and conversations with Chief Inspector Wainwright, they could doubtless be discovered. After deciphering the code used to hide the records of Meijer's bribery of police officials - a simple cipher, quite amateur in execution - and the discovery of the shoe imprints, I deduced the possible involvement of Scotland Yard, though I hoped it not so. Returning for a moment to the unlucky actress, I believe that she began to have doubts as to the validity of the operation and her role in it.'

`She felt guilty,' I said.

`That is only guesswork,' Holmes said, but I remembered the look in the woman's eyes, and I knew it to be truth. `At any rate, Wainwright realised that they were in grave danger of the woman betraying them, so he engaged a man at the White Hart to follow her in order to frighten her away from warning Dr. Watson or I of the danger that we were in. Carelessness once again won the day; Wainwright engaged the man himself, and he did so at the White Hart, a popular haunt of Scotland Yard. When searching Mr. Meijer's office that day, I discovered a list of the company's ships accompanied by cargo manifestos, and I determined to visit each of these ships in order to make my presence known, to see if I could worry my shadowy opponent into revealing himself.' Holmes smiled faintly. `You will be sure to document, Watson, that it was not one of my wiser plans of action.'

` "Your shadowy opponent," Mr. Holmes?' Lestrade questioned.

`The matter smacked of the involvement of an organised criminal element, but I had only suspicions until the trap had been sprung and Dr. Watson and I were locked in the hold of the Friesland.'

`You knew that Loring was on board before we laid eyes on him,' I objected.

`I heard his distinctive tread on the deck above, Watson,' said Holmes. `The limp that turned out to be quite an effective method of lulling opponents into underestimating his physical strength.'

Lestrade raised a finger. `Not to interrupt, Mr. Holmes, but I am more concerned with the  
living than with the dead. What happened to the original Mw. Meijer, and where might I  
find the false one?'

Holmes shook his head. `That, I cannot say. William Loring took to his grave the whereabouts of the real Mw. Meijer. I would be surprised if the innocent lady had not been killed. As for the actress, the Dutch sailors told me that, under the guise of Meijer's widow, she ordered the lowering of the anchor, which acted as a fortuitous distraction for Watson and myself, and possibly for her as well. One of the Friesland's boats was found to be missing after the fact.'

`Ah, yes,' said Lestrade, consulting his notebook. `That was discovered yesterday, wrecked on the south bank of the river. There were no footprints and no sign that anyone had been near it.'

`I would not be so swift to dismiss the young lady, Lestrade,' remarked Holmes. `She has proven herself most formidable. Now, have I answered all queries to your satisfaction?'

`That you have, Mr. Holmes,' confirmed the inspector.

`I have a question,' I said. `Inspector Lestrade, what will be the fates of those at Scotland Yard who are found to have been complicit in this matter?'

Lestrade's expression darkened. `To the best of my knowledge, Dr. Watson, they have been to a man sacked or forced to resign. The upper ranks wish to keep the matter rather quiet, to prevent widespread distrust of the police force due to the actions of a few bad men.'

`You shall have to lay down your pen, Watson!'

`Gladly,' I remarked. `I shall be quite happy to let this entire matter go undocumented.'

`If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have a murderer to catch.' So saying, Lestrade tipped his hat and went down the steps.

`How dramatic our good inspector is,' Holmes said with a shake of his head. `Now, if you would be so kind as to hand me the post, Watson, we shall see what it has in store for us today.'


End file.
